The first time Juliet stood on the balcony,
she leaned too far over the railing
and fell to her death.
Romeo never loved her, just another girl
who fell hopelessly in love with a boy
instead of a man.

A Norwegian girl, made of snow, looks up
and catches the beauty of the aurora
in her lonely eyes.
She listens to the small waves on the fjord
as the lights dazzle and dance up high,
her hand reaching nowhere.

I fell in love with a wayward heart,
a fluttering butterfly travelling
anywhere but home.
I fell for the siren call of a dark love,
a song penned at midnight,
poetry never written.

This is how the hopeless romantics die,
they don’t leave a body behind,
just sombre emotions.
They don’t mean much to anyone
except to those who can’t
take them with them.